


Children Of The Fray

by Little_Owl_Lady



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elves, F/M, Helm's Deep, Inspired by The Lord of the Rings, Orcs, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Rohan
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6837727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Little_Owl_Lady/pseuds/Little_Owl_Lady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the times of middle earth Danger and Death are hard to defeat. The house of Fray have worked for decades perfecting the healing arts. Now they are needed desperately as the fate of Middle earth hangs in the balance. </p>
<p>Basically I need to fix things. So i did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the thick of the Fray.

Helms deep, the stronghold of the people of Rohan. A prisoned tomb as much as it was a haven of unbroken protection. Here we all sheltered, hiding from a darkness we could not defeat. How afraid the proud people of Rohan were in this dark desperate moment. Night was falling as the planes people filed through the great grim gates of the keep, my family among them. Though we had not traveled so far as some had. I shifted the basket that sat on my hip, loaded with bottles and pots filled with healing balms and herbs. A precious and valuable cargo, considering what pushed us to hide away in the fortress.  
My family’s wagon rumbled past me through the gate, filled with my father’s smithy tools for weapon making and repair, as well as my mother’s full stor of healing supplies. My sisters and I carried heavy packs of food, and small necessaries that had not been able to fit in the closely packed wagon. I shifted the heavy basket again and made my way to follow my family in the eddying crowd of people, hurrying into the gloomy mountain keep. 

My skills would be needed before this ordeal would be over. I was a daughter of the house of Fray, and I would not sit idly by when I could help my fearful people in any way possible. The first task at hand, was to find out where the wounded men from the battle to come would be placed. Then assist in setting up, so that when those that needed the skills of the Fray hands, things were as much in order as they could be. I spotted the lady Eowyn up ahead, directing men and women to places and tasks. I made my way over to her, careful of my burden so that it was not knocked or jostled by passing traffic. “My lady,” I addressed the blond woman just in front of me, drawing her attention to my shorter stature. Her eyes widened at the sight of me, then fell to the basket nursed in my arms.  
A smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “You’re a Fray, thank goodness there are so many of you! We will need your clever hands soon enough. I have already sent your sisters to the center keep to set up what will be needed.” She gestured to the side and a young boy hurried over to stand in front of me.  
“Follow Cayman, he will show you where to go.” I nodded at harried lady and set off to follow the boy as he led me through the keep to some of the inner rooms that had been commandeered by my sisters to become the healers wing. 

The size of my family had been a thing of humor and gossip for our neighbor for some many years. As had been the fact that out of all fourteen of the children born to my parents, only five of them had been male. Now they did not laugh.

Not that my parents had minded in the least. They cared little for what others thought of them, and had passed that rather ruffling trait on to each and every one of their offspring. Which had led to a good many disgruntled people over the years, but nobody ever dared to do anything about the Fray lack of tact. We were the single most skilled human healers in all of middle earth. It does not pay to pick a fight with the ones that may well keep you alive in the future.  
My Eldest sister Kaylee had command of the room, as she usually did. She was a skilled organizer, and had the valuable ability to keep track of several goings on at once, so had over the years been appointed and affectionately dubbed the Capitan.

Kaylee gestured for me to come over to her when she spotted me. I wove my way through the organized chaos of the large room to where she stood atop a chest, so she could see the whole of the room she commanded. 

“There you are Ulimay, I was beginning to think you had stayed back with mother and Jaywyn to help with the wounded from the worgle riders. You have your kit with you I see. Good. Paloma and Dania have set up your work space, they will be helping you later too. You will have to be one of the ones working with the worst injured, I’m afraid. You have the most experience with messy wounds from your lend out to the Rangers.” 

I nodded my head acknowledging her tasks and the wisdom in them. Few of my siblings had experience in battle wounds, but those of us who had shown a skill in quick thinking, strong nerves and steady hands had been sent out a few years ago to the duadan Rangers. We trained with them, and learn to save the life of a man many would say the rights of death for.  
Kaylee, Dania, Paloma, Jaywyn, Alissa and I had spent two years with the Rangers in their healers’ core. Learning how to staunch the blood from a sword wound, how to treat a rendering of muscle and bone to save a limb and how stich a man back together to be whole again. We had even been granted the honor to go to Imladris, Rivendell as it was called in common tongue, to be tutored by the healers in the homely house of lord Elrond for a year, as our mother and hers before had. 

I made my way over to my workstation, glad to see that Kaylee had spoken correctly when she told me that Paloma and Dania had already set up the space. There was a large stone topped table that must have been moved over by a few of the boys. It smelt strongly of the alcohol that we used to clean our tools, open wounds and operating benches so as to kill any of the harmful bodies that could enter an injury and create disease and rot.

I set my basket down, and swiftly unpacked the many pots and jars holding many of the elixirs and herbs that would be needed. Over my side hung my leather healers bag. From it I took my operating tools, and put them in a shallow tray standing on a side table next to me, and in easy reach from the stone topped bench that my patients would lay on.  
There were already bandages and threads nearby, so I did not need to see to them, only the clean rags that would be used to staunch blood and hold pressure. Dania came over to me, her arms full of the needed rags, Paloma followed with a few of the great wicker baskets that would hold the dirty rags and bandages after we were done with them, to be take away and washed in boiling water and the herb analiss, that was used to clean and purge so that they could be used again. 

“Mother just came in with Jaywyn, they are both safe.” Said Dania as she set her load down, and then reached up to readjust her head cloth. Paloma smiled at me and held out my own red head cloth. We each had different colours so that we could find each other easily in the chaos of a busy healers’ hall, and so that the boys who acted as stretcher bearers and guards to the wounded before they reached us, knew to whom they had to take the injured. 

All of the Fray had a job to do. The women were primarily healers, though we could fight if it was called for, like many of the women of Rotan. But the Fray boys ran the most dangerous job. They went out onto the battlefield and gathers the fallen soldiers and brought them back to the women to be treated.  
Corus and Nate were the stretcher bearers. They were strong and solid, use to working in my father’s smithy. They could carry men twice their size alone and not break a sweat. Soren was my twin, and a fearsome fighter, was the best swordsman of all of us and had been offered a place to ride with lord Eomer, but had declined in favor of becoming a Ranger. His task was to guard Corus and Nate as they moved the wounded. 

High above them on the battlements would stand my other brothers Ulysses and Prodius. Both of them skilled and sharp archers. They would watch over the other three and protect them from above. They would also direct any other bearer teams to where the injured lay with colored flags. The system was one worked out by Fray countless years past, and meticulously passed down to the next generation, so that should war arise, there would be healers with skills to manage it. 

That was where the head cloths came into the equation, purple was a nurse, apprentice or assistant.  
Blue was mild, wounds that may need bandaging or stitching before the soldiers could return to battle.  
Green was not life threatening, but could not be returned to the fight, such as concussions a deep muscle wounds or broken bones.  
Yellow was those that needed immediate attention, those that might bleed out if not seen to, broken limbs that had punctured skin, or lost limbs, and deep gashes.  
Red was near death and needed swift work to hold them to the living world. This would be my task, to take the men, or boys considering how few true fighter we had to fill our ranks, who were broken and bloodied beyond hope and piece them back together to save them from death.

When a wounded was brought in, they would have a scrap of cloth that either Corus or Nate had put on them to tell us which division they needed to be sent to by colour.  
Soon enough with the help of Paloma and Dania, my space was as ready as I was going to get it, without there actually being a dying soldier on the bench. Alissa, Dania’s identical twin strode over to us with Jaywyn in tow, both of them wearing yellow clothes. 

“We are meeting with some of the women who have volunteered to help, to explain how things are going to work, and to teach those that don’t know much about healing the basics that will be of use when the time comes. Kaylee says that Paloma should come and speak with them, because she is good at getting people to remember things without making them cry, like I do. We are going to have to borrow her from you for a bit Ulimay.”  
I favored Alissa with a crooked grin, and waved my hand in assent. “That’s fine, I don’t need her at the moment, off you go Paloma. I need to go get some air anyway, and probably something to eat too.” 

I made my way down the grey stone passages and out onto the battlements. I leant against the stone wall and looked up at the sky. It was streaked with grey and gold as the sun began to lift in the east. I rubbed a tired hand over my face weary from a long night of preparation.  
With the dawn came shouting, voices raised in joyful alarm. I peered down below me over the stone to see a lone weary figure upon a horse enter through the gate. One I knew, though only from a distance. It was Aragon! Returned alive from his reported fall during the worgall attack on the road. 

A bubbling laugh escaped my thought as I looked at the stubborn man. There was talk around the Rangers that Aragon had the luck of the blessed. Many times before it had been told that the man was dead, only for him to come stumbling in, some hours or days later, with tales of adventure and fare elf maidens.  
From above I could see the Ranger besieged by his friends and traveling companions, who laughed and teased the man for his carelessness and slow arrival. It was a grain of joy in a dark time, and shone all the brighter for it. Still smiling I went inside to find a place to rest and sleep. Later I would look for food, but for now, sleep was the more pressing need.

!!!


	2. An unexpected Appearance.

Rualy strode purposefully towards Haldir ignoring the protective stares of her brothers. She had quite enough of their nonsense of late; she was seventy years old, she knew what she was doing. Haldir noticed her approach and favored her with a grim smile. 

“What do you make of this, friend?” asked the older elf, gesturing about him to the abandoned city of the Rohan people.  
Rualy didn’t bother to take a look around, she already had made her assessment; that was why she had traveled to the front of the line. “They obviously left in a hurry, they must have had word that the ura-ki moved towards them. They will be at Helm's deep; it’s the only place for them to go.” 

There was no reason to question the second captain’s deduction. All around them signs of a hurried exodus lay scattered about. Belongings deemed unnecessary lay abandoned. The ground was turned over and trodden underfoot by beast and man alike, and wagon tracks showed the directions that those fleeing had left the city. 

The marchwarden nodded and sent his lieutenant down the line of elven soldiers to relay the order to move on his make to Helm's deep. As the army moved with order into silent footed formation Haldir turned to his younger friend. Rualy was an unusual choice for a second Captain at first glance. She was young and seemingly impulsive. But she was also one of the most cunning elves and farseeing tacticians Haldir had ever come across in all his years. 

Rualy’s mother had been of the Mirkwood elves, and she had inherited her copper tresses and wild nature, where as her brothers Athron and Gillan had followed after their father, being earthy blond and reserved of nature. 

When Rualy had decided to become a warden of the golden wood, it had been to the protests of her siblings. While also wardens, it was difficult for them to see their sisters potential. To them she seemed a child; young and in need of guidance so that she did not bring harm to herself. 

Haldir however, saw the young elf with new eyes. He saw her raw potential and restlessness as needed to bring life back into the ranks of age old elves. He had stepped in when they had tried to have their youngest kin assigned under their command. Haldir had instead, informed them in no uncertain terms, that Rualy was to be under his command and none other, with no interference.  
If he had thought that the young elf, who was the center of the conflict, would not know what was going on behind her back, he was pleasantly surprised when she curtly, but politely, informed him that she was glad that he had seen fit to force sense on her brothers. She was glad he had allow her to do a job she was good at. That had been some fifty years ago now, and not once had the Marchwarden regretted his decision. Rualy was loyal as she was clever. 

 

Now the copper haired elf kept pace with him as they marched toward the stronghold of Helm's deep, to honor the alliance between men and elves. The warden was glad to have a friend at his side. He had left his own brothers behind to guard the golden forests, and felt the loss of their company. Rualy’s cheerfulness went a long way to soothing their absence.  
This would be Rualy first war, and Haldir felt an echo of grief for what the young elf would witness in time to come. The elves marched swiftly, light of tread towards their destination. The weather was faire and the wind cool, but it carried in it the scent of bitter fear and sorrow. The Rohan had left with little hope of coming back.

The elven warriors marched through the night, they dare not stop to rest with the ura-ki so close at hand. The next day the scouts came back reporting a horde of dead worgles ahead, along with the dead horses of Rohan riders. The bodies were but a day or so old by scent, no more. Haldir had to conclude that the ura-ki were closer than first presumed, the elves hurried silently on.

 

!!!

I sat with Soren working a fine blade into razor sharpness, while he sharpened the edge of his own blade. Mine would be used to save life, his to end it, the irony escaped neither of us. Both sides of the coin for either twin; Life and death.

Soren and I did not speak as we worked, there was little to say. Each of us knew that we stood on the edge of the end for our people. We had so few warriors, only boys and old men, they were not meant to see battle. But what could we do? We were trapped, a dark army to our front and a cliff mountain to our back, hemmed in on all sides.   
And for all the Fray were known as miracle workers, we could only work with what we had at hand, and we had so few supplies. 

We had brought the entire family store. Bandages, herbs, balms, threads, and cleansing alcohols, but yet, for a war, there was not enough. We were going to run short. As it was, mother and Kaylee were going round the keep looking for sheets and clean under garments and tunics that could be shredded for bandages and padding rags. 

Papa, Corus and Nate went about the men, gathering stock of wine and strong brew that might have been brought with the fleeing people to use for cleaning and pain. We all knew though, that there would never be enough, and I felt despair creeping up on me as I worked carefully through the knives and blades in my kit. 

I had been around the Rangers long enough to understand the likely outcome of a battle against the ura-ki. Soren my brother, my twin, had not lied to me when I had asked him what might become of us, when we had first sat down together.

 

He had looked at me with his clear, changeable blue eyes, and sighed softly. “We are here because we are Fray, and we go where we are needed. These are our people, if we can save even one life, surly that is better than none at all.” His voice was soft and gravely deep, his week old beard scraped against his hand as he rubbed his face. 

“Even if we save lives, if we are overrun by our enemies, there is no life saved at all. So tell me brother, have we a chance, do we have hope?” My voice was equally soft, but tempered with my own husky velvet tone, showing the concern and fear that hovered in my mind. 

Soren reached forward, clasping his callused hand to my cheek, comforting and challenging me with his touch and eyes. “There is always hope, never despair. If we despair we let evil win before the battle had begun. Be brave Ulimay, we are Rohan, we are fearsome in battle. One of our men, young or old, is worth ten of our enemies, we have hope because we must.” 

 

We had not spoken since, but I felt Soren’s words heavy in me. I set the last of my tools aside, my work complete, and rose to return to the healers wing to see if our supply store was any better off than last I saw, when the sound of horns echoed in the cool night air. As one, Soren and I ran to the battlements that overlooked the gate. “Those are no Ork horns!” Said my brother, hope and excitement lighting his voice. 

 

“Elves!” I cried surprised as my eyes made out the swiftly marching army. They moved quietly for all there were many of them. Their silence and the dark of night keeping them hidden until they were nearly marching up the stone ramp bridge to the gate. 

“Open the gate!” Came the cry from the tower scouts. “Fetch the king and open the gate!”

 

The army marched through the gate in perfect formation, each footfall in time with every other. The steady thud of booted feet echoing about the fortress, until as one they came to a sudden halt. One of the Elves broke away from the army and made his way to where king Théoden stood gaping in open shock. He was tall, with ash blond hair that trailed over his broad, cloaked and armored shoulders.

“How is this possible.” Said the Rohan king, as he gazed at the legion of motionless warriors. The Elf who had come before the king spoke. His voice was refined, with a smoky silky depth that compelled those about to listen. 

“I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men, long ago we fought, and died together; we come to honor that allegiance.” 

Aragon appeared on the steps leading down to where the Elf and king stood. A bright and joyful smile on his face.  
“Migovania!” he cried as he rushed down to the blond Elf. “You are most welcome here my friend.” He said, relief and affection in his voice, before he hauled the other male into a fierce hug. 

 

I smothered a giggle, when the Elf stood a long moment with his arms hanging out awkwardly from his body, resembling a startled bird of prey. Before he returned the Rangers embrace just as firmly, with a smile, before being released to great the other Elf that had come with Aragon. 

The Elf Captain turned back to the king. “We are proud to fight alongside Men once more.” His voice rang strong, putting an emphasis on the word proud, as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, his head held high. With his words hope resounded, the Elves had come to Rohan’s aid, now there was courage, and a chance at winning.


	3. Two People

Rualy stood back from Haldir as he spoke to the Rohan king, his bearing proud and strong. The marchwarden declared that they were proud to fight alongside men once more, and they were. These people, with their wildfire spirits had been prepared to stand in defiance against a great darkness that even the ancient elves quaked at. Yes, Rualy was proud to stand and fight with these men.   
With introductions and explanations made, Haldir turned back to his second. 

“Rualy, see to it that the men are fed and rested while they can, then, go about the fortress, see where we should best place our forces. I must go speak with the generals and the king about the battle to come.”

Rualy gave a curt bow and went to do as was bid. It was easy enough to see to the men. Many of them were veterans of war and as soon as given permission began to set about places to sleep and where food might be prepared. When she was sure that everything was in order, Rualy went to scout the fortress. She took with her seven others, so that they could cover ground faster. Each of them carried a sheet of vellum and a bag of charcoal pieces, to sketch out the lay of the fortress and were they would need their archers to be placed.

 

The task was relatively easy when one was as sharp and far seeing as elves were. She swiftly scaled the largest structure she could find, and began to mark out points that would need to be defended, and where was the best place to set their archers so that they had the most overview of the keep and cleared stony field about. 

Haldir had shown her many years ago how to map a battle field and what cymbals stood for what number of soldiers to go where, or how to mark a weakness in defenses. It was a useful skill to have. She was just tucking her map into the pocket of her tunic, when a sharp whistle drew her attention down to the cobbled ground three stories below.

A man stood beneath, a rugged grin played across his features, but not drawing away from clever blue eyes that peered up at her. He beckoned for her to come down, and obeying her curiosity, Rualy did. 

 

She leapt the last four meters to the ground and landed lightly in front of the man. Arching a brow at him in question, and trying to ignore the mortals strong stature, and unrefined good looks.   
Rualy had always heard that men were rough and unattractive beings.   
Wild and roguish, they were, but this one was hansom. With his clear, pinning blue eyes, thick choppy short dark hair, and tall warriors build. The man was more than pleasing to look at.   
When Rualy next saw those few who had told her men were not a site for a maiden's eyes, she would call them outright liars to their face. 

 

“I’ve seen you up there this past hour, most of your men have eaten and are resting by now. I think it time you might consider the matter now also lady Captain.” Said the man with an arched brow. His voice was deep and gravely, but there was a clipping roll that suggested keen intelligence and cleverness. 

“Perhaps you are right.” Said the elf with a cocked head as she regarded the man. The man was as curious about the elf as she was him, so decided to try his luck with an invitation. 

“Will you join me for a meal then lady? My sister's brew a fine stew that is hearty and filling without being weighty.” Rualy was surprised by the offer, but gladly accepted the presented hospitality. She had grown tired of travel rations on the journey and a good stew sent her stomach rumbling.

“I would be glad of a good meal, my thanks, but who do I give it to?” said Rualy with an easy smile tugging the corner of her lips. 

The man flashed a bright smile and gave a smooth bow. “You give it to Soren son of Frane, from the house of Fray, but who have I offered to I wonder.” His voice was teasing and playful, making Rualy glad again that the Elves had come to the aid of men if it was to the help of friendly and good people like Soren Fray.

“You gave invitation to Rualy Le’Luthion second Captain of Imeraldis.” Soren gestured the way they need travel to collect their promised stew and stepped ahead to lead the way. 

 

They chatted easily along the way and Rualy learnt that Soren was a Ranger by trade, but he was also a Fray. A house of gifted and skilled healers, and would be using all his skills in the battle to come. Soren learnt that Rualy was one of the youngest Elves to ever be appointed as second Captain, and that she had earned the position well. Doubly so because of who was her leading Capitan. The marchwarden Haldir, a reserved and difficult man to please, but a fair and good leader who she was loyal and devoted to entirely. 

 

Soren lead the elf through the winding passageways of the inner keep until they reached a wide open spaced room there was a great hearth along one side of the room, with five large cast iron pots boiling away. Rualy could smell healing herbs and salt in the air, and as she sucked in a breath through her mouth. She could taste linseed, wych-hazel, comfrey, willow and analiss on her tongue from the steam that rose from the great cauldrons. Healing herbs used for cleaning, skin knitting, pain easing and wound tending. 

 

There were a good two dozen young men and women gathered around one of the smaller cauldrons, laughing and talking with familiar ease. All of the women wore coloured head cloths and there seemed to be some order in the manner of them. There was also a great similarity in appearance between them.

All of them had thick dark brown hair, that when the light struck it just so flared with hints of bronze and red. Their eyes were sharp and motions precise, with a swiftness born of long experience and skill. There was the sharp tang of meticulous cleanness from them that tingled in Rualy’s nose and on her tongue, as it did with the healers in Lothian.

 

So this was the house of Fray. One of the women looked over when Soren and Rualy entered. She was not overly tall, but she was not so very short either. There was a sense of control and order about her that drew Rualy’s interest. Her face was handsome, with full flushed lips and high cheek bones. Her jaw was strong but still feminine, while lending her a sense of strength and determination. Her eyes, though a different colour were as captivating as her brothers. 

They were expressive and bright, a shifting dance between golden hazel and spicy green, they betrayed her true thought and feelings behind her composed mask. Soren went to her and swung his arm about her shoulders and grinned affectionately down at the woman.

 

“See Ulimay, did I not tell you I could induce the lady Elf to come down and eat, now we shall have a new friend, come I will introduce you to her.”   
The woman gave her brother a fond, in mildly exasperated smile, and walked with him to Rualy. “Friend, this is my better half, or so she will tell you, my twin Ulimay. Sister, this is Rualy Le’luthion, second Captain of the elves.” 

Ulimay smiled softly and warmly as she spoke. “I am glad you have come to eat with us, we enjoy new company just as we do old dear friends, the stew is good, and there is fresh bread, come and be welcome at our table.” 

Rualy followed the siblings over to the cauldron and given a bowl of thick hearty smelling stew that made her mouth water, and a slice of thick fluffy bread to go with it. She sat at the crowded table with the rest of the family wedged between Soren and Ulimay. She had never felt so easy with a table of strangers before, not even among her own people. The Fray were clever quick witted people with an easy friendly manner, and Rualy found she liked them a great deal. 

 

When the meal was finished Rualy left reluctantly to go and find Haldir to speak with him about the battle. The Ura-ki had not been far behind them, the battle would come soon. Ulimay reached over and prodded Soren when she saw Rualy rise to leave. He nodded easily and stood with her.

“You go to speak with you Captain? Come I will show you to the counsel room where he convenes with the king and his leaders. It will be easier than you trying to find your way about the maze that makes up the fortress.”

“My thanks master Fray, your kindness is appreciated.” Soren smiled and led the way to the chambers, he had been right to think it would be easier to guide the elf rather than abandon her to search for herself. The fortress truly was a dizzying maze with no apparent pattern or rhythm to the elf.

When they reached the room where the king convened Soren took his leave to see to his own duties before battle arrived, and Rualy enter the hall to speak with her commander.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey readers, there have been some updates to the story to make it flow a little better and make more sense, also now that im not drowning in UNI work, i'll be trying to update more often. As always your feedback is appreciated. I dont mind criticism, just make it useful and not a grand old windge.

The screams of battle were dulled in the healers wing, only screams of the wounded and dying that filled the room could be heard clearly. I worked swiftly and mechanically on the unconscious boy, my hands glistening with his blood in the harsh lamp light. His side was sliced open from an ork blade, and I worked hard stop the bleeding and stitch the ugly gash together.  
Paloma and Dania tended two more men on the ground either side of me. So many were being brought in, that we had been forced to divide ourselves and work alone, rather than as a team, which would have been more effective. 

 

I had lost count of the number of soldiers that I had pieced back together, or for how long I had been doing it. All I knew was that after this one there would be another, and another. Even after the fighting stopped my work would go on. Elves and men alike had lay on my table, death had no qualms about race. I was running short on supplies, we all were, and without those things, death would prove a cunning master to defeat.

 

My hands darted across the boy’s side, neat stitches left in my wake. I grabbed a bottle of comfrey and aniliss wax, and smeared it across the wound as sparingly as I dare, before laying a pad down and bandaging the boy securely. “Move him.” I commanded to a village woman that had stepped in to help me, when my sisters and I had been overwhelmed. I grabbed the pot of boiling salted water that a young girl rushed to hand me, and poured it over my bench, methodically scrubbed off the blood that remained, I then did the same to my hands, arms and tools. 

 

A new patient was brought over to me, but before the assistant lay him down I shook my head. “He’s dead already, see, he does not breathe. Lay him with the others, bring me the next man.” It grieved me when this happened. We could not always get to the wounded in time, but the time for sorrow came later, now there was only work.

The next was an Elf, his ash blond hair marred by the filth of battle. At first glance I thought he too was dead, and was about to order him moved and the table re-scrubbed, when instinct prompted me to check his pulse again. There! A flutter, as faint and fragile as a butterfly brush. He lived yet! Grabbing the knife I kept to my hip, I sliced through the thick leather buckles on his armor and his tunic until his upper half lay bare to me. His smooth skin was disfigured by an ugly gash to his side, but after turning him over, I was more concerned with what I saw there.  
A great ragged crevasse lay open in his flesh, just barely missing his spine, but ripping through muscle and bone of his ribs to his hips. He had lost much blood, and his lung looked to be punctured. Experience told me that this was not a wound that could be recovered from. At least not without much more to work with, more time and a great deal of pain and luck. 

Logic told me I should have him moved on and work on a patient more likely to pull through, and yet, as I gazed at him, my hands moved to clean the wounds and stop the bleeding some. No, I would not set him aside. He had fought for our lives out on the field of battle, now I would fight for his in the hall of healing. He was an elf, I told myself; he may yet recover given a chance. They were a strong and hardy race, healing rapidly and well from wounds that would likely end a man. There was hope for him yet.

 

I measured out a portion of ground yew wood to stop the bleeding, and added it to the salted water I used to clean the wound. Time faded out as I stitched the gaping gash, my hands a blur, my needle ever true and tidy, pulling muscle and tendon back together. I smeared the wound with comfrey, aniliss, willow and bee wax and honey to aid healing stop bleeding and ease pain.  
The wound in his side was still concerning for all the bleeding had eased, and I set to tending it now that the most concerning one had been addressed. When that had been stitched and smeared with the same precious balm, I padded the wounds and bandaged his torso. 

 

I heaved a tired sigh and looked at the elf’s face as he lay pale and still on my table. He was lovely, even with the remnants of battle still on him. A creature of fine masculine beauty, though never had I considered that a man might be both beautiful and masculine at once, but as I gazed at his noble, proud features, I knew that few could think otherwise of him. I wanted him to live badly, but I had others to think of now that I had done all that I could.

“Take him to the other room, make sure that he is laid on his front and do not jostle his ribs.” I said to the two women assistants that carried a stretcher to move the treated patients. Before he was taken away I lent down and whispered to him, then I turned back to my table and readied it for the next man. 

!!!!!!

The battle had been raging about him.  
The wall was breached, and the call to fall back to keep had been sounded out. Atop the wall Haldir fought with fearsome grace and skill, but he was being forced back by sheer number. Below him Aragon shouted for him to call back his men. It was only thanks to keen elven hearing that the marchwarden heard the Ranger.

He shouted to his men in their own tongue to retreat back to the keep, but in his distraction an ork drew close within his guard. A sharp stinging blaze to his side made him gasp and stumble. He whirled and slashed at the foul creature. Killing it with the strike, but he was disorientated, and did not hear the ora-ki behind him until too late.

He felt the tearing jolt as the orc blade cleaved him from shoulder to hip. There was no pain, only a sudden wave of dizziness and his limbs refusing to respond. He blinked, gasping as the world tilted and greyed.  
He saw fallen men and elves before him and he knew he too would join the number of dead in this battle. Aragon appeared before him, but he seemed far away, and though his lips moved and his eyes begged for response Haldir heard nothing, and could say nothing in return to comfort his friend. 

The world tilted again as Aragon disappeared, but with the touch of stone to his back came a rush of agony so raw it whited out the world, until it drained to black, and Haldir knew no more.  
He did not know that a man with blue eyes saw his hand twitch and saw his ragged breathing, nor that he called to his brothers and they loaded the Elf Capitan onto a stretcher and rushed him to the healers wing. 

These were not things Haldir knew. He knew only darkness and pain, until in the darkness a voice whispered to him, sweetly soft and smoky.

“You are strong elf, I have done all I can, now comes a battle you must fight with yourself, I do not think your time has come yet, my friend, you will live.”

*&*

 

The battle had eased, for now. The men had fallen back to the keep, huddling behind our fortress. Barricading the gate against the mighty ram that pounded against it. But for now the healers of Fray rested and checked on those in our care. I should have been resting, I was not on duty, but thoughts of the ash blond elf played in my mind, I wanted to see if he lived any longer. 

I found him at the back of one of the high care rooms, most of the patients in this room had rested on my table. I knew each of their faces, each of their wounds, and each of their chances of survival. They echoed in my mind as I passed them on their makeshift beds until I came upon the elf.

I knelt down beside where he lay. He was still and pale, as if he had been carved from marble. I reached to him and rested my fingertips against his neck, beneath his ghostly skin his heart beat a week drum. A breath escaped me that I had not realized I held. 

I moved his blanket down to check on the wound, exposing his sculpted, and powerful shoulders that were mostly covered by the bandage lashed around his back and sides. I was pleased to see that the wound in his side oozed only a little, but when I checked the longer one on his back I winced.  
The skin around the ragged gash was red and puckered angrily.  
Fearing that perhaps the wound may go rotten, I swiftly went and gathered supplies to cleans and recover the wound.

I worked over the wound carefully but scrupulously, glad that the elf had yet to regain consciousness. This would otherwise have been agonizing. Small mercies I supposed.  
I rose to leave when a memory near forgotten surfaced in my mind. It had been while I trained at Imeralis, Paloma had asked about specifics on elven healing from our teacher. 

He had smiled and explained something to us.  
“Do you know that elves can feel life? We feel it like a song in our minds. We cannot live where there is nothing but darkness, we fade in it, our light grows dim. But in light and life we flourish. A lamp only needs one spark to make it burn brightly again, so too do elves heal better with another close to them.”

I gazed down at the barely living elf. There would be no harm in the action I thought, and besides, I needed to rest anyway, why not rest where I might heal also.  
I went out and disposed of the cleaning rag and dirty bandages, scrubbed my hands and went over to where I had stored my own bedroll.

I came back to where the elf lay and spread the camp bed out on the ground just next to him.  
I was unsure how this was supposed to work, so I reached forward and took hold of the elf’s hand.  
Despite first appearance, the elf man’s hands were work hardened and callused from bow and sword. I  
looked his long fingers over, noting the strength in them before I tangled our digests together.

I imagined what it must be like to have your light fade. It would be cold and lonely, I thought. I had never known true loneliness before, I had my family. I began to talk to the elf man, wanting him to know that he was not alone, and that I watched over him. I told him of my family, of my brothers that brought him to the healing hall.

I spoke of Soren, and how he had made friends of the elf lady. I spoke of learning to heal, and of my adventures with the Rangers.  
I fell asleep along the way, and did not wake until Soren came to fetch me.

“Why do you lay by the elf?” he asked gently without accusation. I looked down at the pale man and back at my brother who was watching me intently. “I stay by him in hope that he will know that he is not alone, and that he will live.” 

Soren reached over and set a comforting hand on my shoulder.  
“It is a good hope, but now you are needed, come.” I glanced back to the elf as I left the room, there was so little that I could truly do for him, I only hoped that being near him would reach him, and that he would grow stronger.

Days past in a flurry of wounded men, elves and exhaustion. Every moment I was able to rest, I did so by the elf, and though there at first, was no instant improvements, he grew no worse either. It was on the third day that he took a dramatic turn for the better, and I was sure that he would live.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter, as promised. YAY!!!!

Rualy saw Haldir fall, cut down by the ora-ki. 

A scream ripped from her throat, grief thick in her soul for her friend. Rualy was young, death had never factored into her experiences. Elves did not die, not naturally. She fought her way towards her comrade, but the way was thick with the enemy, and the call to fall back to the keep rang about.  
There had been a reason why Haldir had chosen Rualy to be his second, and now she proved it to the masses of men and elves. With choked voice the young elf sounded for her men to fall back. They were her men now that Haldir was likely dead; and she would do well by them in this madness.  
The elves and men moved back to the keep, battling away the ork as they tried to peruse them. As the great gate closed behind them, Rualy turned to her brothers and gathered her courage, setting her grief aside for later. 

 

“Each of you take a squadron of archers and cover the keep baldest walls. We must defend the gate, it will be the main target; we will not let them breach the inner walls.”  
Her brothers gave curt nods and dashed off to gather their men. Heaving a breath Rualy began to shout orders and instructions to reinforce the gate and gather the wounded to the healers. Time dragged by in a series of small skirmishes as the ora-ki attempted to scale the walls and break through the gate. But Rualy’s men stood strong following her in growing faith as they saw her calm in the face of war.

 

The young Elf Capitan had lost track of day and time. When on the dark of the third evening, a man appeared beside her on the battlements that was not an elf, nor was he bearing news of a new attack. Rualy turned to look at who had come up to her, and was faced with clear, ice blue eyes set in a hansom, scruffy face.  
“Here.” said Soren as he thrust a bowl of steaming broth into the Elf’s surprised hands. “You haven’t eaten more than a bite or two of bread these last three days, even your kind must eat and rest fair Capitan.” 

 

For a long moment Rualy gaped down at the food in her hands, shocked that the human had been watching her close enough to see that she had not taken time to rest and eat, before a flush began to creep up her cheeks when she realized how foolish she had been not to take care of her wellbeing.  
“I thank you for your kindness again master Soren, you have wisdom to you that I appear to lack, be sure that I will learn from this.”  
Soren threw his head back and laughed. It filled the air with a rumbling warmth, making those about him feel his unexpected good humor that stood thick in the air, fighting back the darkness of the time. 

“I have little good sense to me lady Elf. Enough, but not so much as you might think. You owe your thanks to the nagging of my many, many sisters. There are two things the Fray women are good at when it comes to people, fixing them up, and feeding them up, you are not wounded, so by their reckoning, you must be hungry.”

He grinned brightly at Rualy, showing strait teeth and dimples hiding in his growing beard. “You should be glad that I did not tell them that you had not eaten, nor rested, for near on three days. At least three of them may have taken it into their heads to haul you down to the wings, and drug you into sleep, if you wouldn’t do it yourself.” 

He winked playfully at the wide eyed Capitan before him, as the older men and elves about them struggled to hide grins at the young man’s mischief, and the elf lady’s blushing.  
Instead of replying Rualy sat down on a stool nearby and began to eat, noting for the first time that she was indeed hungry. Soren sat himself down beside her and pulled out his sword and knives and began to sharpen them as he chatted to her about aimless things, directed purely at making the elf laugh into her food and giggle like the youth she was, lifting her spirits and easing the burden of leadership.

 

Soon he had gathered a crowd to him as he told his stories, making those about smile and jest with him. Athron stood beside his young sister, and watched how the human made her smile and lifted the shadows from her eyes. When Rualy rose from her seat her brother fell into step with his younger sibling.  
“Do you go to rest now?” he asked pointedly. The younger elf just smiled bashfully at her brother with a shrug and a nod.  
Athron nodded back, glad to see she would take time to sleep. 

 

“They are different than what I have heard of them, are they not? They are braver and bolder, with a wild life in them. I had wondered if the lord Elrond had been right to send us to them, but now I understand what he long knew. The world would be a poorer place without the kindness and strength of Rohan. Your new friend is a mark of their kind. But, I warn you sister beloved, our kind love deeply, suddenly and but once.”

Rualy gaped at the eldest brother, stopped short in her tracks. “Do you think that I would love a mortal man?! I have a duty to our men, and we are at war, I have no time nor inclination to fall in love! Surly you credit me with some wisdom and discretion.” 

Athron gazed down at his inexperienced sister, his eyes softened with kindness and love.  
“Rualy, you still have much to learn, though we live an ageless life, our hearts are deep and true. Yes, you are our leader, you have proven your strength beyond a doubt. You have made our family proud. But, you forget that we Elves feel with all we are. Our soul speaks to the light that dwells in the hearts of others, we need that light to live.”  
Rualy frowned in confusion. “I do not forget the laws of our own nature brother, what is it that you are trying to say, I am weary and beg you to cease your riddles, why do those older than me feel compelled to say both yes and no in one meaning.” 

 

Athron laughed at his sisters words, they reminded him just how much she had inherited the impatience of their mother’s kind.  
“Forgive me, I do not mean to vex you so, all I say is that you should listen to your soul, and be wise in your actions. Your friend is special, he is a Fray. Their light shines brighter than most. It sooths us and calls to us, you would not be the first to feel drawn to them. Know that there is no shame in it. That is where you must be wise.”

He reached over and set a grave hand on her shoulders, meeting her eyes with his to impress the importance of his meaning on the other Elf.  
“If you are drawn to the human, but do not heed the call, you may darken your light, and his. Know that these things have a way of working themselves out, particularly when it comes to his line.”

He squeezed Rualy’s shoulder, nodded once, sure she had gathered his meaning and turned about to attend to matters with a swirl of his cloak. Bringing sudden understanding to the female about what the mortal men meant, when they claimed that elves were prone to dramatics.  
With a shake of her head Rualy set the incident out of her mind for contemplation later, for now she needed rest, and peace from her brothers meddling.


	6. Chapter 6

Darkness hung about him, thick and oppressive, baying for him to give in, and fade into its depths. It was not a comforting darkness. Not like the darkness of night in the Golden Wood, nor like the softness of sleep. No, this darkness was sharp, heavy and hard. Filled with screams of pain and anguish, the thick taint of blood rolled about, oppressing all else. 

Haldir fought in the darkness. He fought not to fade into it, not to let its weight crush him, nor its sharpness shred him. But he was losing. He could find no light. His soul screamed about him, trapped by his body, searching, but finding nothing. Were where his brothers? For ages past they had anchored him, their light beacons of shelter and strength when his failed. Did they not hear him calling to them? Perhaps they were trapped in the thickening darkness, out of reach from him.

He struggled, vainly. There was no escape for him, no direction, no harbor from this inky muck that smothered his soul. He was trapped, feeling his light fade, but it troubled him less now. If only he could not feel the agony of the darkness. 

The darkness shifted, and twisted away in the distance. Fleeing from a burning brightness that cut the shadows, like a full sun come out in the eclipse of night. It drew nearer to Haldir, pulling the clinging shadows from him, righting his soul, and setting bright his inner light.   
The brightness felt familiar to him, there was a softness to it, pure and clean. There was a tangy sweetness about the light, it reminded Haldir of green apples and cinnamon. It was comforting, and the elf gathered to it, and rested in its strength when it settled about him, aiding him in his fight to grow strong and escape the darkness that lingered outside the harbor of peace made by the brightness.

Time did not matter to Haldir, it held no meaning in the place he was. The only way that the elf could recon change was when the light left for a time, only to return again after what seemed an age. How often this happened Haldir could not say, only that eventually, he began to notice that the light was never far away. That in the distance he could see it, moving about, gracing other fading glows with its burning brightness; but always it returned to Haldir, and he began to think of it as his light, loyal and true. 

The darkness began to lose strength, it faded to a sludgy grey. Haldir heard the voice of the brightness through the thinning shroud. Soft, sweet and smoky, he had heard it before, telling him he must fight, and that his time was not yet over, before the darkness had laid claim to him.   
Now, the voice told him stories, told him of places and people he had never beheld before, far from his beloved Golden Wood. Soon he understood that the brightness was a woman; that he was badly wounded, and his confused mind drew up memories to make real what the voice said to him.

The darkness changed nature. It turned soft and kind, healing and strengthening rather than oppressive and smothering. He could smell healing balms on his skin, comfrey and bees wax, willow bark and analiss. He knew the gentle, clever hands that dressed his wounds and smoothed his hair, her touch tingling over his healing skin and soothing on his fevered face.  
Her words and song lulled him to deep healing rest and her light kept him safe. Haldir knew her, and when he awake from his healing, he vowed that the brightness that fought the dark for him would be his to cherish, for elves love deeply and absolutely those that call their soul.


End file.
